APH O Manada!
by DarkmoonSigel
Summary: What happens when Manada crashed a World Meeting? Singing beavers that's what happens. Rated M for Manada. Read at your own risk. Seriously. First published on Deviant Art


FOR THE LOVE OF PASTA, READ THE DAMN WARNING!  
IT IS THERE FOR A REASON…..

Warning: Some of these stories(not all) in the coming chapters will contain Yaoi. Yaoi is boy x boy love, man meat on man meat, all wieners-no buns. If you are not into that, do not read or complain. You have been fairly warned.

…  
If you are driving the short bus and still don't get it, Yaoi=Gay.

This story and Axis Powers Hetalia depicts people and persons as the direct personification of that nation/country, so if this concept bothers you, this might not be the right story for you, especially if you are unable to mentally grasp that these nations are centuries years old despite their outward appearance.

All people, persons, nations, and whatever represented in these stories are of legal age. No minors of any kind are depicted in these stories by the author, personal perception(s) of the reader(s) aside. Keep walking pedobears, nothing for you here.

It boils down to this-  
IF YOU DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ. IT'S THAT FREAKING SIMPLE!

"FACEPALM"…FOR THE LOVE OF DOITSU AND BEER…..  
I have nothing against any characters/states/nations of Hetalia. I understand that everyone has their favorite characters/pairing. I know I do. If you don't like how a character(s) is portrayed, please don't be a hater about it. If you think the writing is shit(I don't know what you expect-it already states I'm a hack on my profile), then write your own damn story about the nations. It is a lot easier to critic that create. Please keep that in mind. And once again-  
IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T READ! NOT A HARD CONCEPT!

Enjoy. 3

APH O Manada

"O Manada!"

"What in the bleeding hell was that?", England said, looking up from his tea in the general direction of the sung line. America in response paled beneath his California tan to jump out of his seat to tackle England mid-waist. The Brit found himself bodily dragged under the large oval World Meeting table and not in the good way. England hoped that most of nations were far too busy with the sudden chorus line to notice.

"Hon, hon, hon."

Aw bugger, of course the frog would have to notice. England was never going to live this down now. If he had to hear one more bloody 'Special Relationship' joke, he was going to gut someone with a crumpet.

England slipped his loafer off to start beating America upside his head with it the best he could. England was somewhat hindered by the level of the table though from doing any real damage.

"What is the meaning of this?", England hissed, only to have a hand practically stuffed into his mouth and not in the good way.

"Have a tall glass of shut the fuck up!", America snapped, looking oddly worried. He ignored the attack of the loafer. Before England could question or respond, the doors of the meeting room were kicked in…by a moose.

"O MANADA!"

"Are those beavers singing?", England asked incredulously as he eyed the rodents who followed in after it, humming a bass line.

"Yeah…..I don't even do that shit….. Fuckin' lame….not even lasers…", America grumbled, motioning England to be quiet who looked like he was about to argue the semantics and impracticalities of musically inclined beavers or that there was now a growing lake of moose piss on the floor. That was until a pair of boots hit the floor like Vin Diesel on steroids.

These weren't your fashion boots off the runways. I SAY NAY SIR!

These weren't boots that one would pick up at any mere store. I SAY NAY AGAIN SIR!

No, this footwear forged, not made, by the gods of kickass were only called boots because the English language did not have a descriptor worthy enough in its vernacular to sufficiently label them. In fact if one were ever to even dare mention the word 'booties' in their presence, those boots would kick your ass so hard, you would be shitting leather for a week. A WEEK! No…..these were the boots that real men were built from. Men with hair on their chest thick it was like a brillo pad! Men so virile they could get a girl pregnant just by looking at them. Men so fucking BA Chuck Norris only wished he could grow up to be like them some day.

England risked a peek from out under the table to see the man who such boots of power had been tamed by.

Tights jeans barely covered bulging calves and thighs like a second skin. These jeans in fact were working serious overtime to cup, lift, and separate an entire package between those oak like thighs, just trying to contain it. It got backup from a belt that acted like a warden, with a big fuck off buckle shaped like a maple leaf.

A burly chest was bare to the elements, rippling with muscle and covered in hair like a shining pelt of gold. Great piston like arms were braced on chiseled hips, muscles on top of muscles clenching on their own accord.

A square jaw sharp enough to shave itself jutted out, covered in a permanent five o'clock shadow. Why permanent? Because he liked it that way hoser!

Thick locks of long golden hair flowed down and over his broad shoulders, tresses that Fabio would happily give his nut sack for, it was that fucking magnificent, mane of hair that women and men would throw their virginity at. A single curl stood out from the rest of it like a middle finger turned up at the world.

Purple eyes, not pussy ass lilac or lavender-NO!-Like a mother fucken boss purple glittered from behind silver frames because if he didn't wear them, you would melt from all the awesome he was giving in that stare.

"Bugger…Is that?", England gasped. He was jerked back out of sight under the table.

"Yeah…..", America sighed, moving them more toward the center. He really hoped that Manada didn't flip the damn table for the hell of it. He didn't want to make a daring( and totally not pussy ass) last minute escape to the window. America doubted his heroic ability to make it in time especially carrying England over his shoulder. Best go bridal style if he was going to take his bitch with him. A loafer smacked the American upside his head, England having given up trying to get his attention by more normal means a while ago. "What!?", America whispered furiously, "That fucking hurts you know!"

"Brilliant.", England snapped, keeping his own voice low, "You're having me on. That can't be Canada. Not your dear sweet quiet brother." Their conversation was interrupted when someone, it sounded like Germany, asked Manada who he was. He was promptly bitch slapped with a polar bear. Yeah, that's right. A polar bear. Manada doesn't care about all the extinction bullshit. He will hit you with a damn polar bear and you will say "Thank you Manada sir! May I have another sir!", or so help you God, you will be shoveling moose crap till it comes up to your elbows! The table shook as the boot of Maple god slammed it mightily down on the table, America wincing for the structure's integrity.

"IT'S MANADA BITCHES! WHO WANTS SOME, EH!?"

Apparently, no one cause the room was dead quiet…..well you know except for all the singing beavers still humming Manada's theme music.

"So that isn't Canada?", England tried again, making sure to whisper this time. He didn't want none of what Manada was serving.

"Ok, you know that point you get when drinking, like way beyond black out drunk and you just keep going for shits and giggles and possibly blood poisoning? Like when you take off all of your clothes and dress like a waiter cause you are all weird and English like that?" America explained quickly or at least tried to.

"I most certainly do not!", England interrupted indignantly.

"Denial is a river in Egypt."

"First off, I am truly surprised that you know that at all and secondly if you are implying…", England glared.

"I'm not implying shit. Wake up and smell the photographic evidence and mental scarring.", America spat back, whipping out his phone to pull up some select pictures, "You do, we all know you do, and we would really like you to stop. Consider this your intervention. Your welcome."

"I will not sit here and be insulted.", England snapped.

"Technically we are cowering, and this is not about that.", America rolled his eyes, "You know Canadian Club?"

"Yes. I prefer gin or rum personally though thanks for asking. Why?", England said sarcastically.

"Well it ain't a reference to a 'Members only jacket' type of club. More like the kind that breaks your face.", America told him.

"And your point is, if there was ever one to begin with…", England sighed.

"My point is that Canada got into a lot of it and when he does….well….", America nodded back to their current situation.

"He becomes Manada.", England finished flatly, looking very unimpressed.

"Yeah, he becomes Manada. Dude! Don't give me that look! It's the truth!", America whispered furiously.

"Complete bollocks. I'm going home.", England said tiredly, turning to crawl back out. He found it rather hard to do so with an American suddenly smothering him with his bulk.

"Dude, if you value your asshole and ability to sit down in a chair comfortably for a week, you will stay down here and pray to whoever is available that Manada doesn't break the table and find us here.", America told him quickly, pointing to some noisy going ons above them. Apparently, Prussia didn't appreciate his baby brother being knocked the fuck out with a bear.

"Get ready to be fucked up by Awesome, Arschloch.", Prussia sneered, strutting up to Manada.

" Je m'en caliss! Awesome came in through the door aboot five minutes ago riding a moose! What are you bringing to the table, eh?!", Manada bellowed, towering over the Prussian.

"Five Meters!", Prussia countered, quipping it all out as something meaty hit the table.

"Oh shit. Wrong move.", America sighed.

"Well….isn't that just precious. ONTARIO BITCH!", Manada yelled, something huge hitting the table to shake it. There was a collective gasp of horror, fear, and appreciation for the exposed providence.

"Did he just…?", England let the question hang like so many other things in the room.

"Yeah…..yeah, he did.", America said flatly. The table started to shudder rhythmically, Prussia being very vocal about his vital regions getting claimed so vigorously.

"Is he…..?", England paled.

"Yeah…..yeah, he is.", America cringed as the table shook worriedly above their heads.

"Say my name!"

"Manada!"

"LOUDER!"

"MANADA!"

"That's right! Say it loud, say it proud!"

"Oh Manada!"

"Did the beavers just announce his cumshot?", England asked worriedly.

"Yeah….yeah, they did.", America falling back defensively to repetitive one liners to save himself from some mental scarring as he went to his happy place of hamburgers and uke England. It didn't help that it sounded like Manada was up again and rearing to go, this time with Russia. France looked like he was next on the nation menu.

Was it kosher to have French right after Russian?

Who the fuck cares!

THIS! IS! MANADA! BITCH!

He can eat and fuck anything he wants and still go back for seconds, thirds, or the number MANADA! Yeah that's right! He isn't just a nation anymore! He's a mutha fucken number now! Best recognize!

"I wanna hear you say 'da' like you fucken mean it!",

"DA!"

"Use me like a chair will ya! I'll use ya like a dog! Woof, woof mother fucker!", The table almost upsetting entirely as Manada made his *cough*point*cough* with his providence.

"OH MANADA!"

Meanwhile…

"So what now? Are we just going to stay under the table until Manada is done shagging the world?", England sighed. He was bored and the singing beavers were really starting to get on his last damn nerve.

"Yup.", America keeping an eye on the moose. He didn't trust it.

"Not feeling particularly heroic today?", England sniffed raising an eyebrow at his company. America puffed out his cheeks in irritation at him.

"Oh. Hell. No.", America growled, "I like my asshole in the shape it is."

England slowly started to clap his hands sardonically slow. "Oh well done, lad. Nice to know you are complete shite in a dire situation."

"Hey, don't judge me asshole! Don't you know what Canada calls me?!", America snapped.

"You call him your hat, right?", England said after a moment of thought.

"Only when he's sober. What does that tell you?", America exhale noisily, "C'mon Iggy. You're smart when you are not being a prick."

England pursed his lips in thought, his eyes widening in sudden realization. "…That he's on top…."

"In more ways than one.", America admitted.

"…"

"…"

"That's disgusting.", England finally said.

"Incest is best.", America shrugged.

"Do shut up.", England started to gingerly rub his temples.

"The closer the kin the deeper…." American started to have a loafer smack his forehead.

"Seriously belt it or I will throw your fat ass to Manada.", England glared, jerking a thumb towards the motion of the ocean. Germany had come round in time for round Manada with Manada. Verdict on the matter, Germany was still the bitch.

"Says the guy who has banged all of Europe including his own brothers, so in your face!", America fist pumped.

"History is messy.", England said dismissively.

"So is a drunk Canada.", America grumbled.

"OH MANADA!"

"Bugger, I hate those damn beavers."

And so many a nation was traumatized that day.

America and England played cards until Manada was done taking over the world one or two…..or three nations at a time. He mounted his moose when he was finished to fly out of the window laughing his head off.

The nations never did get the moose piss stain out of the carpet….or the other ones….or the smell for that matter. The meeting rooms smelled faintly of maple syrup and sex for months afterward.

Germany developed an odd but understandable fear of moose and polar bears.

Prussia developed an odd but understandable addiction for everything maple flavored.

Canada was found later on by his polar bear Kumajirou after a wicked bender. He woke up naked in the woods cuddling with a rather embarrassed moose.

At the next World Meeting, Canada couldn't understand why he was suddenly so popular, especially with Russia and Prussia. He also always got Canadian Club in mass for his birthday and Christmas from that point on.

America and England hooked up soon after what was to be referred to as the Maple Incident, declaring themselves the sanest out of the lot.

No one gave a flying fuck.

The beavers are available for parties and bar mitzvahs. The moose however is still in therapy.


End file.
